


Before Us

by V4n745c4p70r



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Blood, Bullshit Beforan Laws, Canon-Typical Violence, Fortune-telling, God Tier Abilities, Major Character Death Sort Of, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rebellious Music Because Who Doesn't Love That Shit, Rioting, Self-Harm (Slight Mention)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5385578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V4n745c4p70r/pseuds/V4n745c4p70r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of works on the Alternian Ancestors, but very few of the Beforan! These are the Beforan Ancestors' stories, and this is an account of how they went down into history. The ancestors will have powers, just as those on Alternia were gifted with. Warning: The chapters are not in chronological order of the events that happen. Most likely, the order will be something like this: Chapter one, chapter five, chapter six, chapter nine, chapter four, chapter ten, chapter three, chapter two, chapter eight, chapter seven, chapter eleven, chapter twelve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Auguress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aradia decides to appease the Empress by giving her a lovely vision that gives Feferi (and the reader) the gist of what later chapters will contain.

Snow sent tiny rainbows shining and swirling on the face of the mountain as the Beforan sun began its ascension into the sky, the darkness of night melting into deep purples, reds, and oranges. It was beautiful, for those that had the fortune of being able to see the dawn without burning in the first few seconds, and the individuals that did have the ability to observe the rising of the life-bringing ball of flames were few indeed. One pair of eyes in particular focused on the hues that spread along the horizon, chasing the night from its hold on the planet, and soon the deep red of those eyes settled on the trees that stood proud, clinging to the side of the hunk of rock that the owner of the gaze resided on. A harsh breeze fazed the woman not, the fingers of the wind carding through her long, dark hair, whipping strands into her face and tangling the ends. 

The day was deadly to all trolls, and their deaths came quickly, yet not void of pain. First began the itching, the flaking of grey skin turned black as the rays of the sun touched sensitive skin and boiled blood. Second came the blood-filled blisters that would rise up between peeling bits of skin, bursting with the slightest movement and the slightest touch. They would grow with each heartbeat, just to split, blood pouring down a troll’s arms, neck, and face. The troll died before the body could be cooked completely. Looking directly into the plasma-filled ball of red caused instantaneous blindness, and thus the woman that stood at the very precipice of the mountain made sure not to stay out long, if only so that her eyes wouldn’t catch the sun before her skin caught flame. 

Still, in the light of the slowly-rising sun and the setting moons, the Auguress contemplated. Beforus was lovely this time of sweep, as the wind blew through the trees that reached high with their limbs, emerald leaves trembling with a loud rustle that whispered prophecies in her ears. Even the voices of the dead weren't too loud today, and for that, the rust-blood was happy. Sometimes, in the dead of the day when there was no company for her and the solitude of her existence got to her, their voices kept her company. Tonight was one of the nights that she was glad for a reprieve from their mutterings, and the Auguress's deep red gaze remained focused on the lightening sky for as long as she dared to stay out.

Time shifted around her, just as it shifted around everyone, but she was different. She could feel the flow of it, subtler than the wind and yet more insistent, rushing between her fingers as she turned her hand so that her palm was up to the sky and guiding the scissors of fate that cut the string of life for trolls all over the planet. Time guided the wind as it ruffled her maroon dress, sleeves long and made of a thin, translucent fabric. The Auguress's skirt flowed as she stood on the precipice, a slit running down her leg, yet not revealing a view of her legs, for a peachy-orange underskirt flowed beneath. 

Soon enough, however, the rust-blood was forced to retreat into her hive, grey skin beginning to itch and tingle as the sun’s rays irritated and burned at the nerves of her arms and face. Turning her back on the sun, skin covered in thin, translucent fabric at the shoulders and sleeves, the troll began the short hike back to her hive, which was located in the center of the grove of silver-trunked trees a few yards away from where she’d stood at the cliff face. Maroon eyes focused on the leaves of the trees that could bask in the sun’s light, the gaze young but wise far beyond their sweeps. It came with her line of work, which was unique indeed.

The door to her small hive was opened a crack, and the woman raised one delicate eyebrow as she pushed it open the rest of the way, slowly stepping into her home without so much of a creak from the door. She wasn’t afraid of any unseen danger, as time for her had not yet run out, but the troll certainly was curious as to whom had entered her hive unannounced. Closing the door behind her slowly and silently, she glanced around with bright eyes that skimmed over the furniture and adornments in the two ‘blocks that were visible from the small front hall.

Fabrics filled the inside of her small hive, light refracting through the translucent material to shine colors along the space. Curtains of rust red and bronze brown hung at one of the windows, and other draping fabrics in hues of green and blue adorned the front hall, as well as hung from the entry into the next block over. The Auguress's eyes adjusted quickly to her dimly-lit hive, and sweet scents filled the air. Light sticks' wicks burned with red-yellow flames on a chest in the front hall, wax captured by a bronze bowl, their scent flowing into her nostrils.

“I was afraid that you would fry yourself, Auguress,” came a voice all-too-familiar. The tone was anything but malicious, though there was a change in the rustblood’s demeanor. She was still curious, even as another female troll stepped from the culinary block with a cup of tea in her perfectly-manicured fingers, though such an emotion had been overcome by the sheer annoyance that always graced her moods whenever this troll in particular invited herself in annanounced. “I would have come out to collect you, but you know that I would meet my demise before you would. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be born in a low caste and be able to be out in the open just before dawn. Is it nice? I assume that it would be, but I’ve heard very few first-hand accounts. Most of those come from jade-bloods, mind you.”

Silence fell after the newcomer had finished speaking, and for a brief moment, the Auguress found herself examining the one that often happened to appear in her home. The other was, as always, adorned with golden shackles at her ankles and wrists, skin even paler than the rustblood’s own shining with a handful of patches of scales, none of which were rough enough to cause any harm if they’d been dragged across another’s skin. Long black hair was pushed back by a Tyrian crown, just-removed goggles hanging from the female troll’s free hand, darker marks around those fuchsia eyes revealing just how long she’d had those goggles on. The aura of power that radiated from the other in waves changed the atmosphere of the hive from one of near-tribal aesthetics to one of ethereality. As always, being around the Empress provided a sensation of standing before a deity. It was a sensation that the Auguress was used to, after sweeps in service of the tyrian, albeit not many. She was still young, despite the travels that had taken her from ancient tribes to the end of it all.

Long ago, she’d met the Empress when she was merely the heiress. Her ideals had been better than the last Empress’s by far, and even then, the rust-blood had decided to go with the lesser of the two evils. Hatched just before the end of it all, by the age of seven sweeps, with her title not yet given to her, she’d known about the abilities that she’d possessed and how to use them, which she’d done to travel back in time from the end that had approached in order to make changes. So it was then, four sweeps spent in the past, that she’d agreed to aid the heiress in her goals. Not once did she believe that she would be stuck with her decision - a near-slave to the fuchsia-blood in front of her. Time was a cruel master, and it laughed in the face of vows and promises of forever. Because, until the world ended in all its inferno, she was time’s slave, and time was so heavily tied-in with the ruler of Beforus that the Auguress could only continue to serve.

Gazing upon the other was always something that she liked to do, despite their differences. The Empress wasn’t tall, but she still had that air of authority while being relaxed. Her face was rounded and kind, eyes wide and bright, void of any wrinkle or blemish. The Empress was a beautiful troll, that no one could deny. Long, fluffy black hair cascaded down to the troll’s ankles, curls frizzy and wild, as if she’d gotten out of the seas not too long ago but still quite long enough for her locks to dry. Kindness, well, radiated from her, and the Auguress was fairly certain that the woman could not be angry if her life depended on it. 

“Your reasoning for coming to my hive was not to ask me about what it’s like to be in the presence of the sun before the dead rise, I assume. I am rarely here, and you know this. Simply because I am in service to you, willingly or not, does not mean that I am able to give up my obligation to Time, and so I assume that what you need from me is important.” Blunt, but the truth. The Auguress wasn’t one to traipse around words and hint at things if she could avoid it. In this case, she hoped that she could avoid a dance around details and words, and instead get whatever the Empress needed from her and then be on her way once more. Somehow, the Empress always managed to stay linear to her, and at this point, the Auguress was seriously considering traveling in random bits of the fuchsiablood’s timeline just out of spite. It wasn’t that she felt that strong of a strong distaste toward the other exactly, but it was almost unnerving that the fuchsia had the ability to somehow stay linear to a time-traveler. It irked her.

Without missing a single beat, the Empress began again, pausing only to take a sip of the tea that she’d helped herself to. The Auguress hoped that it burned her tongue. “I shrimply wanted to be shore that we were on the right track. I am doing well as Empress of Beforus, yes? Swell enough, I mean? My defishions have not changed anything for the worse? I min-now that you said shrimpthing aboat not being able to actually sea the future, but you have been to it. There could have been changes in the few perigrees that I’ve not seen you, I’m shore! What if I mess up? What if everyone hates me in the future because I mess up?”

This was always the problem. After each and every decision that Her Imperial Radiance made came self-doubt. It wasn’t surprising at all, but it was exhausting. It was always up to the Auguress to fix the tiniest flaw that the Empress saw in her reasoning, and was always asked to pop up here and there over and over again until they got the result that the Empress enjoyed best. It was rather sad, actually. The Auguress supposed that she could have pitied the other in a time not dedicated to servitude. Time was a tricky business, and no one else was going to keep Beforus from falling apart and becoming ash in the face of the winds of time except for her. She was the only one that was suited for the task, and the Empress just-so-happened to be tied in with all of it. Time revolved around her and her decisions, and it could get even trickier if she got on Radiance’s bad side and the other made a bullshit decision just to mess up what they’d worked for. It was true that she knew the outcome of all of this, but as the Auguress had come to realize, time wasn’t set in stone.

Rather, the flow of time was just that: a flow. It was just as much of a linear progression from past to future as a yellow curve-fruit was a winged worm– which is to say, it isn’t. It was true that the Auguress couldn’t quite see the progression of time, but she’d learned that it was more of a trial-and-error butterfly effect. If that cup of tea just so happened to fall from the Empress’s fingers, the effect would be that the Auguress would have a stained carpet and the Empress would have a stained skirt. However, if she were to travel back a split second and catch the cup before a drop had been spilled, which was certainly something that could happen, then the effect would be two Auguresses in the same place at the same time, one of them one second separated from the rest of the timeline. So, if one Auguress caught the cup, the other one would never have had to travel to catch it, and if she didn’t have to travel to catch it, then it would fall; if the cup fell, then she would travel back and catch it, and so the process continued. 

However, if that cup had always meant to fall and be caught by a version of the Auguress, then she would always have to travel back in time to catch said cup, which would mean that she would travel back in time at any point in her life just to catch the cup, give it back, and return to her own time. Therefore, the Auguress would be destined to save the cup, her carpet, and the Empress’s skirt. The universe ate paradoxes for breakfast.

The past happens at the same time as the present and future, which was clear in her eyes. She existed fluidly, and as did everyone else. Yesterday was being written in that second, and tomorrow was also happening in that instant. Time doesn’t just stop and cease to exist just because one’s mind is in another stage of it. The future was not just on pause to wait for the rest of time to catch up. That wasn’t the way it worked. It just so happened that the Auguress had been born with the ability to swim through the fluidity of time, to create time and manipulate it as she saw fit, as the kind fuchsiablood had pointed out upon learning of the abilities that the rustblood contained.

“Empress, I ask you not to worry. I was tasked with making sure that time runs its course properly and that everything is carried out according to the plan that the universe has set in motion. There are many timelines, and with me in them, it is a constant struggle to remain the timeline that will prevail with your ideals. However, I assure you that I have it all under control and can simply change things that need to be changed to get the ending that you so desire, my lady.” Still, the time-traveler was blunt, her plump, red-painted lips turned down slightly in the hint of a frown as her gaze met the taller’s. Her hips swayed just a bit as she made her way across the hall, beckoning for the other to follow her. She was about to do something that she hadn’t done in ages, simply to put on a show of intricacy for the Empress that demanded her attention nearly every second of the night when she wasn’t busy.

The world was made up of evils, and of goods. Sometimes, those good things were only trivialities, and one was forced to choose between two evils to get to where they wanted to go. The Auguress was not able to manipulate time much more than to influence another’s actions and thoughts so that they instead may change the course of time, but she certainly was able to create offshoot timelines to serve her purposes. In this timeline, there were only two ways that things could happen, and the Auguress had tried for perigrees - even sweeps - of her own life to try to change that. It could not be changed. The world would end in flames, and the Auguress could only prepare for the universe that took its place.

Leading the fuchsia through her hive and near the back, the Auguress remained silent, even as Radiance complimented the many colors and drapes hanging from the ceilings, letting light filter through them in such a way that the ‘blocks were illuminated with the hues of different castes and various other colors. Holding in an exasperated sigh, the Auguress parted the layers of curtains that blocked off one block near the back of the hive, revealing a sight that few had been permitted to see.

The sight of pristine, white bones hung high on the walls greeted the two as they entered. Walls were lined with shelves, and the air smelled of old books and leather, sweet candle scents hitting the two like a slap in the face as they stepped inside. The curtains closed, and the Auguress glanced back at the sea-dweller, face tinted reddish-brown from the light filtering through the bits of cloth hanging in the doors. Her dress, dark red to match her eyes with a slit down the side of her leg – though no grey skin showed, as another lighter pinkish-cream layer of the dress obstructed her grey expanse of skin from view – swished as her heels clicked against the wooden floor. In one swift motion, the Auguress pulled her long, wild hair over her shoulder, twisting it once, twice, in order to tame the locks for a brief moment before she struck a fire stick against the box.

With the additional red-yellow light came the scent of cherry blossoms as a smell-stick was lit, smoke curling up into the air in delicate tendrils. Carefully, the rustblood placed the stick into its holder on the small table in the center of the small ‘block, letting the floral scent fill every corner of the room before striking another match and beginning to light a series of cream-colored candles. Only a few moments passed before she was ready, ignoring the shelves upon shelves of handmade books and bottles full of crushed roots, dried leaves, poultices, and creams in favor of the smoke still rising undisturbed from the smell-stick. Gesturing for the Empress to take a seat on the plush pillow on one side of the table, the Auguress folded her legs beneath her on the other side, letting the other get settled in before she started this show.

“You wish to know that your fortune is tied with the preservation of peace and time, correct?” The Auguress questioned, though her tone made it clear that she knew the answer. The Empress didn’t even need to speak, and merely nodded before the rustblood continued. “Feferi Peixes of the fuchsia caste, I will show you a brief window of the future in the rings of the smoke. Cherry blossoms are the herb of honesty. Breathe in the scent, and know that neither of us can lie during our time in this room. Breathe in the scent, and know that the visions that you will see are brought on from the burning of honesty, and thus cannot be false. I will show you your future, and I will show you your legacy.”

The words were announced with a sort of finality, and the Auguress doubted that the Empress could speak even if she wanted to, especially with the solemn expression on her face as she stared intently at the smoke as if looking for a hole in the universe to form just to show her a vision. Instead, it was much more subtle. The smoke served its purpose, the sweet scent filling the Auguress’s nostrils, and her powers flowed throughout her veins like rivers bursting through a dam, flooding her senses and taking shape in the familiar twisting of her nutrient sac. An image appeared in the tendrils and in the flames, but this was so much more than visual. They were feeling time around them, hearing the whispers of it, tasting the ancient sweetness of the flow; they were time, and they were observing.

Sweeps moved by in nanoseconds, and their eyes perceived not only trolls, but fate itself. Starships filled the night, stars blinked out, and the planet trembled with power as ships poured into the galaxy from Beforus. Trillions lost their lives, none of them trolls, their homes torn apart and their suns extinguished. Red and blue danced in the heavens, sparks that shocked and twisted in an intricate dance too enchanting to seem as dangerous as they were. A single touch turned a planet inside-out. They were floating in front of a star, swirling red and orange, and then they were being torn from it – sucked back through the cosmos to the planet, their faces reflected in a pair of eyes far too red and bloodshot to be able to see. Those red eyes changed to another, the stern gaze of a militant claimed by Death, and suddenly his features were changing, the universe changing, and there had never been ships. Death was undone, breaths never halting. There were no starships in the sky, and the constant rumble had never begun. 

A bronze-blood raised his weapon in the air, the sleek lance shining in the light of the moons, mouth frozen in a cry that was repeated by billions as he took to the skies on the back of a dragon with shining white scales. A yellow-blood’s mind knew nothing but numbers and pain as red and blue sparks were forced out, his brain frying of his own accord, because no fate was worse than the one he’d prophesied. A red-blooded revolutionary fell silent, his tongue melting and burning, yet still he would serve his Empire. An olive-blood stalked the enemy in the dead of the night, a rogue huntress with unmatched agility in the trees, a blue tail curling behind her as she pounced. A jade-blood spun fabric with thin fingers, weaving warnings into patterns to hang in front of her shop and to sell to those whom she trusted with the lives of rebels. 

A teal-blood set her eyes to the sun, burning the blue-green to nothing but red, gritting her teeth at the pain of it while repeating a single thought louder than any chant: This needs to be done. A cerulean-blood held a blue pen in her hand, twisting words and fate with the ink that seeped into the page at her desk, vision eight-fold seeing things that no one else could as the seas swirled just outside the few-feet-thick wooden hull. A blue-blood gazed upon the troll that he was meant to execute, and as loyal as he was to his Empress, his hands shook on the crossbow. An indigo-blood’s lips pulled into a sopor-splattered grin as he held a bowling pin in his hand so tightly that grey knuckles turned white, eyes darkening, insanity being only barely fought back. A violet-blood’s lips drew back in a snarl against the tides, the tentacles of a massive sea creature curling around his ship, bringing it down, down, down into the depths. 

Finally, the throne of a woman filled their view, the vision twisting and curling with the tendrils of the smoke. Fuchsia eyes seemed to stare right at them, and a gentle smile broke the otherwise blank expression of an older Radiance, hand reaching out and fingers uncurling as if to offer herself up for a service. The windows shone red, the sky burned and the clouds were black with turmoil outside of the palace. Rocks rained from the cosmos, destroying their world in heat and absoluteness. The world flipped, faded, and there was another fuchsia holding an orb of black and white – the colors of destiny, good and evil – and then there was fire. The vision ended, and they were back in the room, the flames having died out and the last of the smoke curling up higher and higher until it disappeared into the air.

The Auguress stood from the ground, her gaze once again locked with the other’s. “That is our fate, and that will never change.”

Her name was Aradia Megido, and she knew the future with a certainty that no one else could possibly have.


	2. The Cavalier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tavros Nitram decides to get himself into trouble, while avoiding even more trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the feedback! I was made aware that I'd forgotten to label this as a multi-chapter fic and fixed that as soon as I was told, so thank you to the user that left that very helpful comment. I could've sworn I'd already labeled it multi, but apparently not. Please, please, please continue to leave comments! I love them, and I enjoyed reading all the wonderful compliments.

The sound of footsteps dragging on stone was prevalent in the chilly night air, a cool wind blowing through the ranks of those gathered. Both highbloods and lowbloods alike were in the same square, the Empire’s Beforan capital flooded with those of all blood colors in a display of the law. Clouds splayed in the sky overhead, painted with pink and green from the light of the two moons nearly completely obscured. A storm was riding in on the breeze that whipped hair and rattled metal, the sharp scent of the cold and dampness drifting to nostrils through even the aroma of fear and sweat as the footsteps continued. The source of the sound was a group of lowbloods, some dressed in tatters and the others in somewhat-prestigious outfits, their shoes either landing heavily on the cobblestone streets with something like defiance of their fate or others’ footwear scuffling as they were nearly dragged along, wrists in shackles that were meant to protect the troll wearing them rather than to protect anyone else.

In the center of the square, a podium had been placed. It stood tall, easily reaching the chest of the average-sized troll behind it, teal gaze searching the crowd in a way that chilled even those that weren’t ushered along in chains. Blue-green like the sea - though not the sweet, forgiving tides that offered life and water for those in the sea and on the beach, but the frozen oceans of the north, frosted over with layers of ice - those eyes skimmed lines of text in fuchsia on pristine white paper, and then focused on the line of lowbloods that was growing nearer. A few seconds passed before the scuffling stopped, the entire crowd as silent as the depths of space, and a single indigo-blood peeled from the shadow of a tower in the square to part the line into groups of six. The first group began the sound of shoes against stone again as they marched to face the crowd in front of the podium, backs turned to the teal-blood with the parchment in-hand.

“As stated under the fourth paragraph of the Law of the Lowbloods, proposed and signed by Her Imperial Radiance, the law requires a troll under the status of teal blood to spend five sweeps of his or her life before the age of ten sweeps in the care of a troll at or above teal status on the hemospectrum. When broken, offense of the law is punishable by instant culling for those up to thirteen sweeps for a duration of five sweeps. For those below twenty sweeps and yet above thirteen sweeps, offense of the law is punishable by paid servitude to an assigned culler for five sweeps. Finally, for those above twenty sweeps, offense of the law is punishable by execution.” The teal-blood reiterated from the parchment, voice carrying to each pair of ears gathered there that night. It was that time of sweep - the one where the census had revealed those whom had managed to escape their care, now gathered in the capital to receive their correction. 

Not many enjoyed the law, save for those of higher hues that collected lowbloods like candy, patting themselves on the back after they’d culled a troll for five sweeps, thinking that they’d saved that particular troll from the horrible fate of living a life span of fewer sun rotations. A handful of lowbloods enjoyed the law, knowing that their hive, food, water, and wants would be gladly indulged for sweeps on end, while others detested it with his or her entire being. Evidence of that was astounding each and every sweep, and each census, the number only increased. This sweep brought in more trolls that had resisted culling than ever before, and the line was monitored by highblood after highblood, as well as the occasional lowblood that had managed to somehow get into the corps of soldiers that had been tasked with the protection of the Empress herself. 

Agonizingly slowly, the proceedings continued. The first troll’s name was read off, announced twelve sweeps, and was handed off to a particularly blessed-looking violet-blood and his shackles removed. Reluctantly, the troll whose eyes were a deep yellow joined his new culler in the throng of those that had come from all over Beforus. Another troll was read off, then another, and another. The first group passed by without a single troll over twenty sweeps, luckily, and then the next took the place of the first. Name after name, title after title, was read off and trolls were made to stand next to their new caretakers, shackles removed and wrists rubbed until circulation returned. The entire crowd, if possible, went even more quiet when the first troll with a sweep-count above twenty was read off.

Rather than be robbed of life immediately, the troll was pulled to the side by the same indigo that had organized the groups, held behind the podium rather than in front. After her, it was as if a dam had broken. Nearly every other troll now joined the first behind the podium. They came in all lowblood colors: maroon, bronze, a single yellow-blood, olive, and even jade. Titles were scrawled, burned into memory, as the line for execution grew longer and longer. No troll wanted to forget them. Lowbloods saw the trolls lined up there as something close to family, their blood running with the same oppression, and highbloods saw them as trolls that could have had much better lives had they just submitted to care. What was wrong with gaining care, albeit with the strictness and oppression of a “caring” culler, especially when one’s sweeps were numbered?

“Tavros Nitram, twenty-one sweeps, title undocumented,” called the teal-blood, seeming fairly unconcerned as another troll was tugged from the line by the indigo and pulled to the ever-growing group of lowbloods that were to be executed. This troll in particular marched with his head bowed, shackles clanking together and long sleeves doing nothing to prevent the rub of the metal against grey skin. Thick black locks fell in the bronze-blood’s face, deep brown eyes locked onto his boots as he concentrated on anything except his fate, body shoved alongside a multitude of others gathered beyond the podium. 

He was going to die like all the others, and Tavros knew it. He’d known it ever since he reached ten sweeps without culling, managing to live his life as free as he possibly could. It had been nice, to have control over his own life - to have control over what he ate, over how much time he got to spend with his lusus before it inevitably left him at ten sweeps for another bronze grub, and to be able to do basically whatever he’d wanted. For twenty-one sweeps now, he hadn’t been forced to stay inside a hive, within the property lines of a culler and with a proper bedtime, his dreams withheld from him. For twenty-one sweeps, almost half as long as his natural life would be, Tavros Nitram had been free.

Was it worth it? Tavros had no idea, as he was faced with his execution, and could only stand and wait as troll after troll was sorted, more joining the crowd before the teal-blood as well as joining their petty little group - the band that had somehow managed to escape culling for their entire lives. Still, the bronze-blood’s gaze remained locked on his boots, on the grey cobblestone that reminded him of the color of a blood-drained troll’s skin, the fate in store for them all, soon enough. 

The proceedings finally ended with the final troll being steered to a particularly beautiful blue-blood, and if Tavros had been in any other situation, perhaps he would have even meekly made his way over to say hello. However, he most certainly was not in any other situation, and that was made painfully obvious as a single dark blue-blooded soldier pulled out a long blade and made her way toward the group of those destined to lose their lives within the next three hours. The crowd of highbloods and lowbloods that were able to leave slowly diminished, new cullers and old alike not wanting their “sensitive” lowbloods to be witness to such a massacre. They were outlaws, and the fuchsia letters on the parchment called for their demise. No one would miss these trolls, those that had spent a large portion of their lives free and doing things that no “fragile” troll should ever be asked to do even on the worst occasions. They had no cullers. Their lusi had moved on long ago.

Memories were both the bane of his existence and the only good things he had. In what might be his final moments, Tavros found himself thinking of the lusus that he’d had when he was young, and the way he’d wished to have wings like his wonderful caretaker. Of course, said lusus had been very small, but caring nonetheless, and it had done a very good job of taking care of him. He found himself thinking of the friends he’d had, the teal-blood whom had wanted to change the world, as well as the indigo with a life so sad that his ‘pusher had ached. The outlaw wondered what had happened to them. He wondered if the teal-blood whose name he couldn’t quite remember had ever managed to become a legislacerator. He wondered if his indigo friend had ever gotten his life together.

Somewhere along the lines, blood had begun to spread along the stones so that Tavros could see the pool swirling with brown, yellow, red, and greens from his position still staring at his feet with a somewhat empty gaze. When had they begun the execution? Upon glancing up at the crowd, the bronze-blood was surprised to see that many of those gathered had left, and he couldn’t help but to wonder how long he’d been off in his own thoughts. Was this truly happening to him? Was he to be executed simply for wanting to do something that other trolls a couple of castes higher were allowed to do with no problems? Why were they restricted from their dreams, oppressed and kept from anything that they truly wanted, when they were just as capable? Why were yellow-bloods unable to be brain surgeons, when they were the caste that needed it most?

When Tavros had been little more than a grub, he’d dreamt of being a warrior. Even in wrigglerhood, he’d read stories of famous cavaliers and fighters, especially those few bronze-bloods that had managed to rise above the ever-oppressive policies. Tavros was a bronze, and he had been determined to join the ranks of the most influential and powerful soldiers in the Empire. Once, he’d almost gotten his dream. Sweeps ago, Tavros had nearly made it. 

Now, the blood was to the toes of his boots, and only a few dozen of the trolls remained waiting to be slaughtered like murderers or animals. Tavros finally looked up at the few members of the crowd that had stayed, eyes searching the cold and horrified expressions of those that couldn’t look away. 

The troll that had gotten the idea to sing was a mystery to the bronze-blood. It was a song that every lowblood knew, whispered to each other in street games and hidden from cullers.

_ “While death and fear are in our midst  _

_ And strife is ever found  _

_ Our blood brings strength where fear is void  _

_ By blood we are thus bound.” _

For a few moments, the place was quiet again, and Tavros could only suppose that the troll whom had been singing had been beheaded before he could continue. However, their song rose again from the beginning with another voice, joined by yet another, the shaking in their voices evening out into a resolve. They were going to die. The blood on the cobblestones would leave stains on this square, every hue of lowblood mixing together, binding them even in death. As they sang, a new cacophony of voices joined with each word, their voices grew louder. A grin split Tavros’s face as he was tugged forward, and finally, his blood-pusher found its stance.

_ “May strife among us be unknown,” _ Tavros sang with the rest, the jingling of his chains being swallowed by the sheer volume of their hymn as they were tugged. 

_ “Let the adverse learn of peace,” _ another tug, and he was on his knees. The bronze-blood’s knees were stained with green and yellow now, and the stench of copper filled his nose. 

_ “For we will find the fountain of our hope,”  _ and with the words, all traces of fear left Tavros for the first time in his life. He felt nothing but strong, nothing but brave and determined - hopeful - even as the blade pressed at his neck, quickly being removed as the warrior pulled it back to wind for his swing.

_ “We’ll sing in victory.” _ The words gave a sense of finality as the bronze-blood’s color joined the river of the lowblood rainbow. Was it worth it? Yes. 

* * *

A troll stepped through a crowd of lowbloods, gathered in a grey square. The sun would rise in three hours, just as it always did after the proceedings, to burn the bodies to dust. It was fast and efficient, the sun’s harsh rays doing the dirty work for the highbloods and occasional lowblood soldier. The less work they did, the better for them. The troll, wearing a pristine cavalier uniform with buttons shining golden, made his way through those in rags and fine dress alike to stand before the podium. 

This was the day that his life would change. Tavros Nitram stood between the podium and the crowd, staring straight at a female teal-blood with eyes of a color that no troll would ever have if not for staring into the rays of the deep red sun that posed a threat to them all. In the forefront of his mind was the image that he’d been shown by a rustblood when he was five. Something had changed, between that time and this. He’d been culled. Tavros hadn’t been called his hatch-name since he’d been ten, and the bands of gold and bronze around his wrists were trademark only to the Cavalier - the soldier that had come to lead the Empress’s royal guard.

Murmuring quieted, and the line wasn’t nearly as long as the one he’d seen in the image of mist. At fourteen sweeps old, the Cavalier was standing before the throng of trolls, lance held in his left hand with a grip tight enough to turn his knuckles silver-white, about to make the most important decision in his life. His dark eyes met a blue-blood’s in the crowd, dressed in her cerulean coloring with a black collar of webbing, a mourning veil pinned back in her cascade of curly hair, and for a split second, doubt began to bubble in his nutrient sac. Her eyes, piercing and unnerving even at the slightest glance, bored into his very being.

Taking no heed of the lowblood that had stepped closer to the podium than was normally permitted, the teal began to speak, finger running over Troll Braille text on a stone slab. Before the first word was even completely out of her mouth, the Cavalier jerked his head to the side in a movement that could have easily been missed had others not been lying in wait for just that particular signal.

Others began to push through the crowd wearing cloaks of a uniform grey, boots sounding against the stone in such an organized fashion that the blind, teal female stopped speaking, tilting her head so that she could attempt to hear what else was going on. Soldiers were soon on the guard, all of them recognizable to the Cavalier. He glanced at all of them, their numbers just a handful for the moment. Their forces were evenly-matched, at the very least. They could do this. He held command over the soldiers here as their higher-up, though that would change the second he opened his mouth. One last glance at the cerulean told him that there was no turning back now. There was no way that he could possibly keep from explaining himself now that other soldiers and two indigos had seen him and the hooded figures that had emerged.

“I am the Cavalier,” he began, voice raised so that everyone in the square could hear. He’d practiced this mini-speech for nights on end, staying awake even into the day to be certain that he had every bit memorized. If the Cavalier could have, he would have closed his eyes and pretended that no one else was watching him as he spoke. However, just barely, the bronze-blood managed to make eye contact with as many trolls as he could. Nearly stuttering on the next few words, he licked his lips. “I am the top soldier in Her Imperious Radiance’s forces. Therefore, no troll thinks more highly of patriotism and of protecting our Empire. As a bronze-blood, I know what many lowbloods here may be - and are - thinking. I know what we have thought for generations. We, under the rule of Her Imperious Radiance, close our eyes to the sins that have been committed against our people.

“We indulge ourselves in false hopes. We are those who, having eyes, choose to be blind, and having ears, choose to be deaf to the things that concern our salvation! Rust-bloods, bronze-bloods, yellow-bloods, and green-bloods - those words categorize us as a people, but not who we are. Her Imperious Radiance  _ makes  _ those words who we are! I am not merely a bronze-blood, as I have proven time and time again, especially to the guards and the soldiers in this line; I am a soldier, and I am the Cavalier. I fight to protect the Empress and what she stands for, and I am happy to serve, yet I am treated as if I am made of glass - treated as if I will perish by the smallest prick of a thorn! I have my rights stripped of me, as all of us know and every single troll in line has felt and more, and I am told that simply because of the color of my blood and the extension of my life, I am not to do that which make me want to live  _ for.  _ We sit back, waiting for a change that will let us truly  _ live,  _ and yet each and every day, we lie down and dream of the past crimes against us. I am not different from the rest of you. We all know, looking at the past, that there will be no change.”

Letting all of that sink in, watching as highblood eyes swivel from his face to the line, to the nearest lowblood, and back again, the Cavalier continued. “We are betrayed with a kiss each and every night, by cullers that know nothing of our heritage, our traditions, and our emotions! Dozens of psions perish each year because only those with blue-tinged blood are allowed the privilege of helping them through psionic complications! No yellow-blood since the reign of our Empress has been able to help his or her psion brethren through medical and mental complications. If blue-bloods have never had the ability to control yellow-level abilities, how could they possibly understand what they need? How can we, as a people, allow ourselves to be oppressed and kept from knowledge that would be beneficial to the whole of society in the long-run? 

“We live with fear in our blood-pushers: fear of the unknown, fear of the known, and for every single troll in this line above the age of twenty sweeps fears death. We fear death for those that wanted to live by their own rules, and we rob them of the lives that our policies are meant to protect. Those policies are meant to protect  _ us. We  _ are allowing our own people to be slaughtered like wool-beasts for living!”

As the Cavalier went on, his voice got stronger, louder, and his ‘pusher pulsed with emotion. Black locks of hair ruffled in the wind, not quite long enough to obscure his vision, as the Cavalier shook his head. His eyes were full of conviction, and a tiny smile had been placed on the teal’s lips, he’d noticed. He was doing well, then. 

“This has not been the first time that we have heard this topic. This has not been the first time lowbloods, likely even in this crowd, definitely in that line, have preached the injustices of our Empire! Our voices have once again been silenced - a parallel to our Empress and the knight too loyal to his own Empire that he would dare to allow his beliefs to be stifled! Our Empire’s veins are golden with the blood of a psion whose cullers sought to preserve his life so much that he was no longer living at all! No more! This is not a way to treat those that have made this Empire - snuffing out our minds like candles when a night’s work is done! No amount of culling changes us for the better - it only rips our lives away! There are countless stories, countless records, that we all choose to ignore. Well, no longer shall we ignore what has been done to us!”

The final words of his speech settled into place, and the atmosphere of the square had changed in a way that was noticeable in almost every sense. Whisperings were no longer hushed, the crowd mulling over the Cavalier’s words. The air was thickly charged with something like raw emotion, and the bronze-blood could only glance around with something like pride as expressions set and lowbloods stepped forward. 

His blood-pusher had never pounded so heavily and strongly, not even in the vision that the Auguress - that had been her name, she’d said, despite forum entries’ whisperings naming her the Observer to keep from being too obvious about the time-traveling guardian known throughout Beforus - had shown him just before he’d been made to choose between a culling and the freedom that he’d ached for. The troll could only stand there as one of the hooded figures began to move toward the line. Immediately, other soldiers drew their weapons, and that was when everything got a little more confusing, and a lot more interesting.

One of the figures seemed to glow blue for less than a single second. Said soldier froze, eyes blank, before expression returned. Rather than turn his blade on the hooded figure whose hands had frozen in their journey to reach for the shackles of a troll, the soldier swept the head clean off of another soldier with one swift motion. The square exploded with activity, and the soldier just kept fighting against his own as other trolls rushed to break shackles. One of the two indigo-bloods in the square reached for his club, only to be knocked to the ground by a particularly tough-looking rust-blood using her own shackles as a weapon, and they disappeared under a stampede. It was a full-blown riot, the Cavalier realized with awe and fear, now standing in the center of a surge of trolls, akin to the eye of a storm.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” a voice called from his right, and the Cavalier was greeted by the sight of the teal that had been behind the podium. A wide grin was on her face, her cheeks flushed blue-green in what seemed to be excitement as she regarded the riot. Though almost none of the trolls in the crowd had brought weapons, the soldiers were quickly overwhelmed by the sheer number of lowbloods surging at them, and even a handful of highbloods. Other highbloods hung back, eyes wide, or were joining the soldiers and one remaining indigo to try to subdue the warmer hues. “I thought that I was actually going to have to go through that entire list of trolls and have them all either culled or executed.”

“Of course not,” the Cavalier managed a small smile as he regarded the woman that he knew to be the Lawmaker. Now that the speech was over - the only thing that the Cavalier had been certain about in this situation - his stutter and more halting way of speaking was back. Briefly, he wondered whether or not he should just carry a list of things to say and practice them as determinedly as he’d practiced the speech. “You know I wouldn’t make you do all of that. I uh… Didn’t know that what I’d said would lead to a fight. Do you think I’ll be responsible for the deaths?”

Shrugging, the Lawmaker pulled the blade from her cane, just managing to parry a blow from a particularly angry-looking violet-blood. She closed her eyes, long ago having lost their sight, and lunged at the sea-dweller. For a few moments, the Cavalier stood there, frozen in place, before he managed to get a grip on the situation. Surging to the teal’s side, the bronze-blood was just barely able to catch the violet off-guard for a deep blow to the side with his lance. After hearing the troll hit the ground with a thump, the Lawmaker spoke again. “Who cares? It’s worth it, isn’t it? How many deaths are we highbloods responsible for because of culling and restrictions? If anything, you’re evening the playing-field a little. Now come on, the Novelist can only control one troll at a time in this chaos. We don’t want her getting her bulge in a twist, do we?”

Despite everything - all the screams in the square, the fact that the Empress had seen everything through cameras, the dead bodies both highblood and lowblood alike that were beginning to litter the ground - the Cavalier couldn’t help but to feel something like hope. As he watched the Lawmaker’s pear-shaped form disappear into the crowd, he wiped his lance off on his once-pristine, blue and fuchsia uniform, unbuttoning the black coat with the circlets and embroidering of gold, only to toss the cloth to the ground. He certainly did not want the Novelist to be angry with him for having to do everything herself. Casting one last glance around, he ran to catch up with the teal-blood.

On his way, the world got a little more dangerous. Before long, the Cavalier had lost sight of the teal-blood’s short, pointed horns and shoulder-length hair, as screeching trolls fought around him. Pain exploded in the bronze-blood’s head as a fist connected to his temple, and a gasp was ripped from him as he tried to steel himself from the sudden dizziness. His own fist launched toward the troll as he stumbled, and just after regaining his footing, the Cavalier speared the blue-blood whom had been attacking him through with his lance. Still, the moons shone above them, green and pink casting soft glows down that caused the blood-filled square to shine.

Screams filled his ears, and for a brief moment, the confidence he’d felt began to crumble around him, falling like buildings in an earthquake. The entire square was in chaos. Trolls still chained up were launching themselves at the nearest beings - highblood or lowblood, ally or enemy - and choking the life out of them with metal chains. The Cavalier’s uniform was most likely stained with blood by now, trampled over and forgotten, and it was with a shudder that he saw the one still-alive indigo slam a lowblood in the head with his club, instantly crushing the poor soul, before stomping down on what remained of her head.

Despite the legislacerator’s words, he couldn’t help but to wonder if this really was worth it. Then, he remembered the vision he’d received, and the blood that had stained his tattered clothing as the people had sang. He remembered the fear turning into hope, the freedom that had been wasted because he hadn’t dared to do a thing with it, and the Cavalier’s veins lit up with adrenaline and purpose. He was not going to die, no more executions were going to take place, even if he had to slaughter highbloods each and every sweep with forces unnumbered. 

A teal-blood came at him with a saber, and it was with sorrow that the bronze-blood took him down, dodging the slice before jamming the hilt of his lance into the troll’s stomach to steal his breath. A moment later, and the troll was on the ground, having been shoved down. The Cavalier left him to the crowds, glancing back a few seconds later just to see the troll curled up in a ball beneath feet that didn’t take any notice.

At long last, blood on his clothing and staining his weapon, he’d made it to the outskirts of the battle. By then, it was nearly over, finishing as quickly as it had started. His words had seemed to boil the blood of the already-warm-hued trolls, which was in turn boiling the blood of the cooler hues. After all, there was nothing that a highblood hated more than an unruly, “fragile” being whom couldn’t even take care of himself or herself - or so the Empress claimed. Lowbloods were definitely winning, if only because of their sheer numbers, and the Cavalier stood next to the two blue-bloods that he’d planned this with. 

The Novelist was a terrifying woman - terrifyingly beautiful, terrifyingly intelligent, and horribly conceited. Some part of the bronze-blood liked that. He liked her confidence, he liked the way her vision eightfold gazed upon the trolls here as if they didn’t matter in the slightest. The Cavalier might have been flushed for her, if he knew he’d had a chance, and if he wasn’t practically flushed with the idea of the lowbloods being free from their oppression, free to live their own lives, regardless of their shorter life spans. The Lawmaker was just as terrifying. The two made a wonderful team. 

Within seconds of his emergence from the crowds, it was all over. Highbloods and lowbloods lay dead in the square, and the scent of metallic blood filled the Cavalier’s nose. It was disgusting, he felt disgusted, and yet more than anything, he was relieved. He was relieved that this had worked, that the lowbloods still in chains and out of chains stood there, eyes glinting with triumph at their freedom, before turning to gaze at him. From now on, they would look up to him, and he knew that. Even a couple of the soldiers stood with their heads held high, still loyal to the Cavalier that had once been their higher-up. 

A wide grin splitting his face, the troll glanced over at the stern face of the Lawmaker, then at the smirking face of the Novelist beside him, before gazing once more at the assembled crowd.

  
That was the day that the Cavalier had renounced his title, and had taken another. From then on, Tavros Nitram was known as the Crusader. 


End file.
